Then the Darkness Proceeds
by AllSpiffyAndStuff
Summary: Karloff Mennis pulls himself together. Kind of literally. [Pre-"HorrorLand" series, extremely based in my own headcanons]


When Karloff woke up, he didn't have a right hand.

He woke up slumped against a wall in one of his many experiment halls, his hat covering his eyes. Blinking a few times to remove the sleep from his eyes, he reached up to push his hat just slightly upwards - but couldn't. He found that was because his right hand was completely missing. Tipping his hat up slightly with his left hand, he muttered something to himself and looked around the cold stone floor for his right glove.

Against his will, his head turned a full one-eighty degrees.

"I've really gotta _HAND_ it to you, Karly!" His other face, Lorre, cackled. "I always knew you weren't all there, but now you're _REALLY_ coming apart at the seams!" He stopped to laugh, clutching his chest -

His head turned back around, and Karloff paused to catch his breath. How could that idiot cackle like that!? It was exhausting! "Shut up!" He snapped, coming up to his feet. His right leg seemed steadier than his left, and he grit his teeth. No, no, no, not his legs too! He hated this, he _HATED_ this! He leaned against the wall for stability, trying to calm his breathing. Okay, okay. Don't get angry. It wasn't as though this was the first time this had happened. He'd fixed himself before. He cast his eyes down and found his other black glove under his foot, and, smirking, he leaned down and snatched it up. "We're getting this park back to reality," He hissed, trying to get the glove to fit on to the empty hole that was his wrist.

His head spun around, and Lorre took the helm, forcing the glove on a little more forcefully. Somehow, the glove seemed to snap on to the cuff of his long black jacket. It hung limply for a long moment, then slowly began to fill out. Lorre wiggled his fingers, frowning hard at how dim and faint the movement was. "_WE_!? There's no _we_ about this! This is your mess to clean up - I'm just here for the fun of _TERRORIZING_ those little brats!" With a giggle, Lorre began to walk off, a bounce in his step...

He put too much weight on his left leg, and it buckled under him. He crashed on to the hard stone floor.

His head spun again, and Karloff pounded a fist against the floor. "_WALK_. _SLOWLY_." He all but shouted at Lorre (to which he heard Lorre mockingly repeat his words). He pushed himself up, paused to regain stability, then took his own advice and began to walk slowly down the hall.

Karloff Mennis was falling apart. Literally.

He couldn't remember when it began, but the longer he stayed in his beloved Panic Park - the black-and-white picturesque prision eternally trapped in nineteen-seventy-four he was condemned to - the more of him was consumed by shadows. He didn't mind it most of the time. Having parts of your body missing and leaking shadows could sometimes get a _great_ frightened reaction out of people - when he could get a new victim in his park, anyhow. And the pure, stark black darkness that seeped from the spots his missing parts should be got the instant respect of the mournful Shades that haunted his park - not to mention the magic he was able to harness from the darkness. Most of the time, missing body parts in exchange for power and respect was everything he could have wanted.

...But sometimes, like today, it was just a hassle.

He wasn't enough shadow to float, like his Shades. And - as much as he would never say so, as much as he'd rather subject himself to every single one of his horrifying park attractions and doubly-terrifying experiments all in a row then ever admit such a thing - he was afraid of one thing. He was deeply afraid of succumbing to the darkness that was eating him. He saw what being a full shadow did to the Shades - it made them quiet. Somber. Fragile. Hopeless. All things Karloff would never allow himself to be - never. He was the Menace, after all: nobody who called themselves the Menace could be quiet, somber, fragile, or hopeless!

His left hand on the wall for stability, he went up a set of stone stairs and then pushed open a hatch. He looked down, blinking a few times rapidly, as though the outside light overwhelmed him for a moment. In truth, it wasn't too much brighter than it was in the underground hall - it just seemed that way to Karloff, who was much more used to subtle differences between shades of black, white, and gray than any other person would be. "Ugh, it is far too early to deal with this -"

"Then let me!" Lorre declared, spinning back into control. He bounded up the rest of the way (careful this time to keep his weight on his good leg), kicked the hatch closed, and began to bounce around Panic Park. He said hello to any Shade he passed (who all sunk back in fear, Lorre's red face too bright for them to be used to), peeking into gift shop windows and gazing up at horrifying ride structures and beaming with delight. It was all so - so - so delightfully terrifying! How couldn't he smile!? Karloff could be such a sourpuss! Giddy, he slipped into an alleyway between two structures, slinking through the shortcut and up to a large, thin, hidden back-alleyway structure. The door was locked, but with flourish Lorre twirled the combination lock to the correct numbers, and the lock popped open. Lorre flung the door open and hopped into the structure.

It was mostly empty, aside from a large machine in the back and an assortment of hoses connected to it. The machine had a circular door on it and a window on the door to peer inside - like a washing machine. Thick cobwebs littered every corner of the room. Lorre clapped his hands with a gleeful little giggle, coming up to the door of the machine, all but pressing his nose against the glass. "Oooh, we need to refill the machine!" He remarked, "We need to show those pesky Shades who's boss! Make them float faster! Smile wider! Clap louder!"

Karloff spun into the lead again (his nose scraping against the glass, making him wince) and he stared into the machine. Lorre was right. The machine was filled with what looked like black smog - but not enough black smog. Hopefully, it would be enough to get him back together, to force his body to stay whole. "We're getting this park back to reality," He repeated in a murmur, grabbing his right glove and ripping it off. He sneered at the empty spot where his hand should be. "That'll fix this. This doesn't happen to people in reality. Then I'll be fixed. Then I'll be whole."

"What about me?" Lorre asked, spinning in front.

"What _about_ you?" Karloff snarled, spinning back. Before Lorre could turn it into an argument (as he always did), he forced the door to the machine open and stuck his empty wrist inside.

He felt strange for a while - fuzzy, staticy, almost empty, hollow. He wondered if Shades always felt like this. The feeling was enough to quiet even Lorre's cheer, and that was no small feat. When Karloff could bear the feeling no longer, he pulled his wrist out and shoved the machine's door closed. He put his back to the machine, then slowly slid down until he was sitting on the dirty floor. He exhaled, shaking his head. Then he held up his empty wrist and put the glove back on, softly smiling as it locked on to the cuff of his jacket. Slowly, ever so slowly, the glove filled up with darkness. He flexed his fingers, then flexed the fingers on the left hand, his smile growing when he found they felt just about the same. Karloff shifted, giving a pleased sigh when he found his left leg could support him with no issue.

There.

He'd managed to stave off his body splitting apart - for the time being.

He let his shoulders fall.

But then he paused, the relief fading away. He straightened up. Then - without warning - he bit down hard on his tongue. The pain made him wince, and a coppery taste filled his mouth. He spat on to the ground. It was reddish, sure...Mostly. But trailing up from the reddish puddle was whisps of the darkest black, slithering, spiraling up to the little building's ceiling.

Karloff groaned, tilting his head back until it hit the machine. This wasn't good. It was getting worse, slowly but surely. He needed to get out of here. He _needed_ to.

"Fear got us into this," He rasped, "Fear will get us out."

His head spun around.

"Us? Fear got _YOU_ into this! Don't think you can turn _ME_ into some sort of scapegoat!"

His head spun back, and he thumped the ball of his hand against his temple. "Shut up! Shut up!"


End file.
